


Disarmed

by HalfCentArchives



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26372734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfCentArchives/pseuds/HalfCentArchives
Summary: A short story telling of Undyne's youth days, spent in training with Asgore.
Kudos: 6





	Disarmed

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Cards and Souls Festival, hosted on Undertale Amino.
> 
> I tried to import it via the "Import Work" feature, but Amino is apparently not very import-friendly.
> 
> Original Post: http://aminoapps.com/p/dskw0y7

* * *

"That's a funny-looking spear." The weapon rested against a white-draped throne.

Undyne trudged through the sea of golden flowers, taking care not to stamp on any of them too hard. It was strange. It was all so very strange, the dens boss monster-types would keep for themselves.

Well, that, and boss monsters in general. At times they truly seemed another breed.

Undyne sniffed. Her gills burned an itch, and she didn't know if it was the pollen or the dust that tickled it so. It pissed her off. "You...," she bit her tongue. "...Sir, you still haven't told me why you brought me here."

Across the room, King Asgore busied himself with cups and saucers, porcelain clinking neatly under pudgy fingers. He looked over his shoulder and offered a smile—so warm it would give the sweetest of saccharines reason to run for the cliffs.

Ah, there it went. Her anger barely had a chance to mount, and deft as a child racing for a passing snowcone cart, he took it away from her. One did not find themselves upset in the King's presence. She wondered if that was preternatural, too—an ability boss-types have kept secret from the rest of monsterkind, like a hidden blade. People revered Asgore for a reason, eccentric as he was.

Still, what breed of leader—what breed of king—would want to be seen holding an audience for a troublemaker like her?

Slight twitches played at the ends of her lips, and Undyne forced back a frown. She needed to appear her toughest. Clenching her fists, she opened her mouth, but Asgore interrupted her.

"A nice day out today, isn't it?" He said, nodding at the cracked cavern ceiling. "Perfect weather for tea, or a game of catch."

Undyne maintained her frown. Pricks of water welled up in her eyes. "It's awfully bright."

She wasn't sure if her words had reached him. Asgore waded through the dancing petals, tray in hand, humming a tune as if nothing else mattered. He set it down on the table—round, three-legged—and held a cup out to her, then motioned for her to sit.

Undyne slowly lowered herself on the grainy stool, never taking her eyes off the king. She sipped the tea, savoring its taste. Too much sugar. A little too cold.

Asgore seemed perfectly content with his, though. He let out a winded sigh. "I'm sure you must be wondering why I called for you today," he said, setting his cup down.

Undyne frowned. So he _wasn't_ listening. "Yeah," she said, "I've been asking that all day."

Asgore simply smiled back, and Undyne couldn't decide if she hated or loved that about the king. He reached inside his cape and withdrew a half-torn parchment, placing it on the wood. The handwriting looked familiar.

Ah.

"A child gave this to me as I was making my rounds through Snowdin, earlier this week." Asgore turned the parchment so she could read it. "The envelope was sealed rather powerfully, fittingly so to the contents of the letter—"

"That RAT!" Undyne bellowed, jumping out of her stool. Asgore reeled back, nearly knocking over his teapot. She flushed, sat back down, and folded her hands on her lap. Damn it.

"So...," Asgore started, fixing the saucers, "I take it you did write this letter, miss?"

"It—... it, uh...," Undyne stammered, "I-I didn't mean any of it!"

Asgore raised an eyebrow. "You didn't?"

And just like that, she shrunk back in her seat. She was going to _kill_ that rabbit.

"It says here," Asgore read, pinching the parchment between fuzzy fingers, "that you, miss Undyne, believe yourself the greatest fighter our kingdom has seen in centuries."

Undyne resisted every urge to bolt for the doorway. That was enough. "Please, sir, there has been a misunderstanding!"

"Enough of a warrior—in heart, body and mind—," Asgore continued, "to surpass even the great king of the underground... 'Asguor' the Tyrannical."

"Wait, please! Listen!"

"That if he were to fight you in a duel, one-on-one, your spirit alone would overcome any threat he may pose you." He set the paper down in front of her. "Does that sound right?"

That was it. She was done for. Undyne took a deep breath, as deep as her aching gills would allow, and held her gaze to Asgore's. She swallowed. "Yeah, it does."

For a moment, dust seemed to freeze in place. What was the king going to do next? She expected an obliging of her challenge, or at least a strong reprimand... to be honest, that first option didn't sound so bad, assuming she didn't walk out of it bruised bluer than scales.

Instead, he met her anxieties with a soft chuckle. "You're quite the feisty child, aren't you miss?" Asgore said, taking another sip of his tea. That was... weird. He didn't seem angry at all.

Undyne grimaced, feeling she'd regret what she was about to do. "Aren't you...," she said, "aren't you going to beat me up?"

Asgore blinked.

"You know... for challenging your authority?"

Asgore smiled. Again with the smiles. "Now, why would I do that?"

"Wh—?" Undyne nearly slipped off her stool. "But you're the king!"

"I am."

"I mean, act like it!" Undyne raised her voice. She hadn't meant to do that. "I know you're suppossed to set an example for your people. I know you're supposed to be strong for us!"

The king merely stared at her, and Undyne bit her tongue again. She had learned to do that early in life—trouble clung to her stubborn as ash. Asgore didn't seem intent on interrupting her, though.

She continued. "Why don't you fight? Why do you just sit there, smiling like a fool, drinking tea like a fool, tolerating me? Don't you care at all?"

"Now, now," Asgore said, "there's no need to get aggresive."

"And why the hell not?" Undyne snarled, creaking teeth.

Asgore blinked again. "You don't smile much, do you miss?" he said, unmoving in his seat. "They say a smile is always easier than a frown, on the cheekbones and heart. Should you like to try it with me?"

Then, Asgore offered his warmest smile yet, so sweet that it was sticky. Undyne glared at him, stunned. She'd had a feeling. A creeping suspicion. "You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

Asgore cocked his head slightly, crown shifting. "My, what gave you that impression?"

With a start, Undyne rose and slammed her fists on the table, spilling tea. Asgore didn't even flinch this time. He tenderly picked at the cups and set them back upright.

This cocky _wretch!_

"You wanna see me smile so bad?" Undyne hissed as she hopped on the table, rattling porcelain. She bared her fangs. "I'll smile, alright. I'll be smiling over your scattered dust, punk! Now..."

She kicked aside the teaset, sending it tumbling against soft petals. With a heave, she grabbed one of table legs and tore it off—splinters flying—landing upright as the table toppled over with her.

"Fight me!" she barked.

Asgore stayed glued to his seat. With a hearty cry, Undyne raised the leg and swung down, aiming for the king's neck.

Asgore kicked himself off the stool, throwing up dirt and petals. A few caught in Undyne's eyes, and her swing didn't even graze him. She coughed. Damn these flowers!

Before Asgore could right himself, Undyne lurched to the side, bearing down with a chain of jabs and thrusts. The king weaved effortlessly between them, regaining his footing as he did. On the last thrust, he stepped behind her and wrestled the club from her grip.

Undyne stumbled back and held her arms in a crossguard, expecting a counter. It didn't come. Asgore looked silently down. "Are you alright, miss?"

She spat, racing back to the broken table, nearly tripping over a rolling teapot. What was she thinking? What was she doing?

Once she'd reached it, Undyne flipped the table over and stomped on its face, pulling both legs free and fixed them steady between crooked fangs. With her hands, she shook the dirt off the tabletop and hurled it true at Asgore, cracking air.

Asgore held fast. Club in hand, he redirected the frisbee's trajectory, letting both club and disk tumble behind him. Brandishing twin table legs, Undyne charged forth.

She wound up for a swing...

* * *

Dust floated under the skylights. Sawdust.

Undyne craned her neck up to the blinding sun, its rays evaporating beads of sweat. Sweat, or were they tears from the dust and pollen? Was this... mid-day? It grew so hot. How could anyone stand living on the surface in this heat?

Her gills were already trying to kill her without it.

Asgore towered just in front of her, hands held firm against his back. He said nothing—the sound of his steady breathing overpowered by labored gasps.

Ah. That was right.

A table leg sprawled broken to her side, its splinters half-buried in dirt. Broken not against bone, but cavern stone. A severed table face lodged itself in the far wall, collecting dust.

Did she win?

She chuckled grimly to herself, her voice hoarse as crystals. What did she think? What was she thinking?

The table leg by her—it swung surprisingly light in her hands, easy on the wrist. Her fingers wrapped around just fine and it hardly chafed. But the balance was off—heavier not just on one end, but on one side—and was no substitute for a proper weapon. A proper blade.

What was she thinking?

The table face. She should have just left it after the first throw didn't work. Why did she keep coming back to it? Did she seriously consider using it as a shield at some point? What would she have held it by? Digging her nails into the wood and hoping—praying—a well-placed blow didn't shatter her forearms whole?

Not that it mattered. The only reason she even considered such a dangerous grip...

"You didn't... fight back," Undyne said through quivering lips. She sat on her rump, her every limb aching. "You just... kept dodging me. Why didn't you fight back??"

Asgore didn't answer. He just... stood there, looking no more worn than he did when they'd started. He looked to her. It was the fourth time she'd asked that question, and the fourth time he didn't answer.

Undyne's cheeks burned red—so hot even the searing sun came up tame. She was no stranger to a humiliating loss—when she'd been too large for her britches and picked a fight with a monster even larger—but this one somehow ate away at her spirit worse than any before. Behind closed doors, by her king's hand...

She hated it. She hated it _so much_.

"You didn't even use your stupid spear!" Undyne cried. All through the fight, the three-pronged spear never left its place by the covered throne. She'd left it there—she didn't want to rob Asgore of his weapon of choice, as a foolish, foolish show of bravado—and he never once went for it. He never seemed to even consider it. Was she that worthless of a fighter?

Asgore's brow softened, forlorn. "Are you alright? My apologies..."

Tears welled in Undyne's eyes, spilling over her cheeks. Flowers, dust, shame—she didn't know. She didn't care. She wanted to go home...

Asgore stepped up, blocking out the sun. His crown sat proud on his head, never flinching. He reached out a hand, and Undyne nearly launched into a panicked scramble. However, the king merely held it there, outstretched.

And then, he smiled.

"Excuse me," Asgore said, "do you want to know how to beat me?"

* * *

Steel grated on magic steel.

Undyne roared, uprooting flowers as she went. Locked in her gaze was the king of the underground—its undefeated champion—trident gleaming red under a cloudless night sky. Starlight trickled down the ceiling cracks, playing on their features. Asgore was smiling.

In her hands, a waterforged spear locked against the king's own weapon. They rung.

Shifting her weight, Undyne twisted the shaft of the spear, throwing the king forward. She stepped through the opening and swung fierce. Asgore planted his foot firm. He spun his trident back, slicing wind, then _CRACK!_ Their weapons met once more.

"Not this time." Undyne stood ready. She twisted her spear, ducked under the trident, throwing the king forward with a flip this time. She jabbed her spear's head into the soft garden soil.

Ah... she would need to help Asgore clean this up later.

As Asgore regained his footing, Undyne dug her foot into the dirt. Using her spear as a lever, she spun around and sent a head's weight of mud and grime streaking towards the king's face.

"Woah there—!" he cut off as Undyne bellowed a warcry, winding back for a run. Even blinded, Asgore held undeterred, and swung his trident at the spot he last saw her.

But Undyne was no longer on the ground. She sunk her spear into wet soil and heaved, throwing herself. In moments, she was airborne—armor and all—scales against the dewy night, vaulting over the king's pointed sweep. She let go of the spear.

With a satisfying crunch, she planted her boots on Asgore's golden chestplate and sent him crashing. His breath came up short as he rolled to a stop by his throne.

His crown, so firmly nested on his golden mane, tumbled onto the dirt.

Undyne landed square, panting. Did she do it? The brief surge of excitement overwhelmed her senses, and for a moment she thought she would melt. She turned to look at the fallen king, and that rush faded quickly as it did intrude.

"Asgore!" she called. The king didn't answer.

She rushed to his side, a stab of guilt welling in her chest. She turned him over.

And he was smiling.

"Ha ha ha! Well done—!" he shook, coughing his lungs out. Undyne extended an arm to steady him.

She balked. Asgore was laughing, now of all times? "I... I just kicked your butt! You shouldn't be—hey, careful now!" She lent him an armored shoulder, and the king hoisted himself up, one foot after the other.

He strolled over and picked up his crown, resting on golden petals, dusting it off with trembling fingers. Asgore cleared his throat. "You beat me," he beamed. "Well done!"

There, again, Undyne stood stunned. She was beginning to think something was seriously wrong with the king—boss monster or not. "You shouldn't be smiling right now," she said.

Asgore's smile didn't falter. "Why wouldn't I? Smiling is healthy."

"There's a time and place for it," Undyne said, "and on the ground after defeat certainly isn't one."

"You were smiling too, Undyne."

"Me? When?"

"As you were fighting me," he said. "I've noticed you smile most when you think you're winning."

Undyne fought not to let that comment irk her. "Winning, not losing. You shouldn't be so happy right now, you big weenie."

Asgore strolled back to her, strings of muck still hanging from his cape. He reached out and planted a furry hand on her pauldron, the warmth brushing her neck.

"Why don't you smile more?" he asked. "Is it because you're unhappy?"

"It's because it makes me look weak. Soft," she cocked an eyebrow. "Like you."

Asgore laughed. "Does it really?"

"Yeah," Undyne said. "I don't know how people take you seriously."

Asgore walked over to his throne. His trident leaned precariously against an armrest, left from when she'd kicked him down. He gently lowered himself onto the cushioned seats, humming a tune.

"I should think," Asgore said, leaning back, "that it would serve to do the opposite. It would be a mark of strength.

"Show your enemies you don't fear them—that even in defeat, you would stand steady and proud," he continued. "That is why."

Then, the king turned to her. Plastered on his face was the sweetest, most obnoxious smile Undyne had ever seen on any monster—royal or otherwise. She fought the urge to smile back.

A smile as your strength. What nonsense. Then again, Asgore was full of that.

A personality that made it a wonder he'd stayed king for so long, a worldview that made her question his sanity, and a smile to disarm any spear.

* * *

Smoke billowed in the damp air, forming clumps.

To the side, a wooden table laid broken—legs limp and splinters sprayed—snapped in half by an energy spear.

Undyne glared at the child in front of her. A deranged smile played on her lips. The child—the human—looked back in silence. They wound up for a swing. Undyne didn't bring her spear up to block it—she refused to—and let the blow fall square on her stomach.

_Paff!_

A shaky fist landed, and she barely felt a thing.

"What." she growled. The child shrivelled back, nearly stumbling over their feet. Seconds passed. They looked to her sheepishly, picking at their bandaid.

Were they serious?

Undyne scowled. "That's the best you can manage? Even attacking at full force..."

The child looked around, as if searching for an answer. Hesitantly, they nodded.

Undyne drew a sigh. The scar under her eyepatch itched from the smog. "You just can't muster any intent to hurt me, huh?"

Around her, timber played host to dancing flames. She looked to the burnt countertops, tin and tea wafting fumes; the scalded pot and pasta within, soggy yet charred; then to the human...

At that moment, the child offered her a tentative smile. It was... sweet.

...Always with the smiles.

Undyne grimaced, her gills sore. Her kitchen laid in shambles—of her own doing, no less. Flames threatened to consume the walls and roof whole. Did she really want to drag this fight out any further?

She heaved a breath... "Heh, you know what?"

...and released the spear she'd been gripping, fingers slicked in sweat. It fizzled out before it even hit tile, blue energy melding into the suffocating black around them.

She smiled back. "I don't actually want to hurt you either."

* * *


End file.
